


The weekend.

by snarknoir19



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarknoir19/pseuds/snarknoir19
Summary: Natasha accepts T’Challa’s invitation to join him for a weekend away.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/T’Challa (Marvel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	The weekend.

It was early when she woke to find herself alone in the cabin. Too damn early. A peek outside the little window confirmed sunrise. Barely. She remembered that daylight was different here in Iceland. Five hours tops at this time of year. 

She debated submerging back beneath the covers. 

But, with awareness came memory and her mind was already catching up to the events of the past two days. When she yawned and indulged in a glorious, spine tingling, first-morning stretch, all of her body aches and strains flared to life, confirming the delicious memories of the evening. Damn T’Challa. Her Panther was a ‘Tiger.’

And she caught herself: “her” Panther. “Hers.”

Laying still in the small bed she could feel her walls ready to form up around her. A reflex to her very earliest training. Triggered by her own tiny bit of possessive musing. Possessiveness. Fondness. Caring. She remembered the lessons well; “attachment is a vulnerability.”

However, she was no longer that person. Not entirely. Much had changed. Was still changing. Life held so much more for her. Soft things. Valuable things. Weird occasions like invitations to tiny remote cabins overlooking Icelandic fjords and mountain lakes. Because your friend wants to field-test his new cold weather tech and wants you to come with him because, well, just because. 

So she enjoyed this, and would allow herself these things, with him. She understood vulnerability and on some level believed she was ready for it. Vulnerability that wasn’t dangerous in the old sense. But that allowed for connection and trust and belonging. 

Still: He was not ‘Her Panther.’ Easy girl. It was a romp in the sack. An amazing romp, certainly, but let’s not go all romance novel. The Black Widow didn’t do romance novel, she reminded herself. 

Sure, he’d invited her along for a weekend and then this had happened, but that was simply all it was. T’Challa was no clinging vine. Neither one of them were. Everything was cool. Teammates with benefits, maybe. Natasha adopted an air of casual cool and reached for something with which to cover up. She needed to move around a bit before finding him. She was absolutely not going to have him see that she was walking funny after their evening together. 

She knew her hair was a fright. Blowing away errant strands of bed hair, she pulled on his sweatshirt, stepped into her boots, and wrapped herself in a heavy blanket. Before stepping outside she tucked her face into the collar and inhaled his warm scent. T’Challa. She closed her eyes, suddenly aware of the slow pooling heat and immediately felt herself clenching. fffuuuuck. Natasha paused in the doorway. Breathed. What the actual fuck, girl? Get. a. grip. Opening the door she spotted him by the fire, and he turned smiling with that smile. A flutter at her core and it was building again. 

She was pulled toward him, hyper aroused, on a hair trigger. Knowing full well that he could smell the state she was in. Hell, anything male in a square mile could probably tell. The thought of him actually knowing and looking at her like that while she approached...she felt her pulse rate climb. 

She felt a flutter as more memories of their evening came back to her and it was suddenly essential to have his hands on her. Everywhere. Now. 

Her last several steps were hurried and then she was in his arms, their mouths slotted together, and she was clutching, reaching and then she was scooped off her feet and god did she just whimper?, and she was being carried. Didn’t care where he took her. Only wanted, needed, contact, now. 

...........

She found him sitting on a rock down by the ice. He’d been wading in the Panther suit, nerding out with his newest upgrades, she assumed. 

“I thought cats didn’t like getting wet.” She scooted up against his side and leaned into his warmth. 

“Myth. Take last night for instance.” He teased. The buttery sunrise made his skin glow and she felt herself melting again, just as she did every time he gazed at her the way he was just then. 

She mock gasped. “Pretty brazen for a king, sire.”

“Well, I’ve been traveling in rough company you see.”

“I see.” She scooted herself further onto the rock, crowding him closer to the other edge. 

He reached around her then and Natasha felt his powerful hands at her waist and she was lifted, feather light, up off the rock, turned, placed in his lap. 

“We simply have to discuss consent and this toxic masculinity of yours,” She smiled even as she curled into the warm security of his arms. “Icelandic women won’t have you just hoisting them about like this.”

“I suppose I shall have to announce my intentions before lifting any up.” He adjusted her closer. 

Natasha nosed into the open collar of his shirt. “On that point and just so we understand each other; you are not to ask my consent when we’re together.” 

“Are you perhaps referring to our epic sex encounters? Because, one wants to be careful. You are the Black Widow after all.” She relished the humor in his tone.

“I’m referring to you and me anytime, wherever. If you ask I might have to stab you. And I don’t intend to ask you for yours either.” She let that settle. Then: “Wait. You’re thinking you gave me epic sex?” This brought a chuckle from him and she knew she would kill to hear that sound more often. 

“I would call it an absolute certainty.”

“Well, someone has a high opinion of himself.”

“As high as the pitch of your screams echoing off that ridge.” He gestured to the mountain behind them. 

“I do not scream.”

“Loudly and in three languages. Before the yodeling.”

“Ass.”


End file.
